What patterns are these? What paths are they following, he and Babe? It is as though they have worn twin grooves in the world, like the ruts created by the wheels of wagons, but deeper and more profound, so that as one travels, so must the other. They are yoked together by forces beyond contracts, beyond friendship. Their lives have become reflections, each of the other, an infinity of echoes.
Babe seeks comfort from Myrtle with other women.
He seeks comfort from Ruth with other women.
When the marriage of one is troubled, so, too, is the marriage of the other.
They rhyme. They are partners in the dance.
Or it could, of course, be only coincidence. It must surely be.
And yet it is not. The strangeness of this year will prove otherwise.
An overlapping, a shaded Venn.
Babe.
Ah, Babe.